I fear that my creative muse must have left for the coast. I used to write poetry so much that it made sense to identify myself as a poet. I enjoyed the meter though I detested rhyme. I loved to read poetry as a child, and even now, sometimes, I find content and form that mystifies and inspires me. Though for much of it, I have to seek out poets from the 18th and 19th centuries. For years I wrote love poetry about different kinds of love, and in retrospect, sometimes they were based on personal experiences of love that failed. Other times they were an amalgamation of the things that I wanted and needed in a relationship. It wasn't until I finally had a taste of the accomplishment of those goals that I stopped writing. I was writing because I was in pain and longing for something I did not have and began to feel that I would never have. I thought perhaps my raison d'etre was not to know what kind of love in this life. Yet the moment I achieved some state of happiness, the ink ran dry. I came to realize my inspiration was an ideal, a philosophy of the personification of love. Had I written these poems to a god, spirit, or egregore on some distant shore, using the splendor of the word to show devotion towards this ideal? Commitment to embracing a love that maybe I had known in another incarnation, or perhaps had known when I was part of the gathering of spirit in the heavens. Composing poetry on themes of love eventually combines passionate love with divine love. Verily the poetry was a scathing attack on the injustices and cruelty of past lovers. Sometimes it was a list of attributes I sought to embody within myself. I was petitioning the gods of love to show no pity but to guide me in the direction where I would find love that would heal my wounded heart. Where thoughts travel, energy follows, and here is where devotion to the gods of love may pour reflections of it into my heart. Such an action expanding capacity and consciousness for such love, for this is the formula of sympathetic magic: to create a microcosmic model of the macrocosm. It is reaffirming the age-old wisdom of as above so below. Here it is clear that I have attempted to understand love in the form of philosophy and less so through an emotive context. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses, and in the lesson of Chiron, astrology, and mythology teach a lesson about the wounded healer. The wound itself is the teacher that imparts the wisdom of how it can also be the healer.
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